Four Years
by thefactionlessauthor
Summary: Tobias Eaton and Tris Prior broke up four years ago when Tobias left for Boston to get away from his family, but Tris stayed in Chicago to be with hers. However, with Tobias's mother passing away, he has returned to home and it brings back a lot of memories. When he sees Tris again for the first time, nothing is the same. Repost AU/Original story. Rated M for language/later scenes.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So as most of you know, I have been in the process of rewriting all of my stories, and even starting a few new ones. I really see a potential in this story, but I didn't like how I started it out entirely, so I hope you enjoy the new and the old I have worked in. I am hoping to start chapter 2 very soon!**

 _ **Chapter 1 – Tobias's POV**_

Chicago really hasn't changed all that much in the last four years since I left. As I stand outside the O'Hare International Airport, waiting for a taxi cab, I take in the city I know too well. I know it's streets like I know the lines in my palms. Most notably, the Hancock building, which still towers over most of its neighbors.

But I didn't think that I would be returning on such a bad note.

My mother is very sick, unfortunately, and that is why I've come back. My life in Boston is at a standstill; for how long though, I'm not sure. My apartment still houses a lot of my belongings, however, I bought a plane ticket here, and found myself on the next plane to Chicago; most of my smaller belongings, like clothes and such, reside in the large duffle bag on my shoulder and the suitcase trailing behind me through the terminal exit.

One of the wheels is broken and it wobbles terribly.

I was used to traveling some distance, because of my parents' divorce. Not a very long distance, but it felt bigger at the time. I was only six when they finally split. I remember being so confused and angry at the time, but now I understand it. My parents are quite the opposite of one another; my mother is reserved, she can keep a level head most times whereas my father can be a hothead. He believes raising a voice or a fist is the equivalent of power; it is a weapon at best. I'm glad my mother found her way out.

Though in some cases, perhaps opposites really do attract; but my parents are two magnets that refuse to connect, and because of that I have begun to believe that opposites rarely do. After all, how can two people get along with nothing in common?

Sometimes I believe it is a curse they have passed on to me. I wouldn't say a history of failed relationships follows my name, but it certainly carries a small list and one particularly heavy relationship. Although, more often than not I either offend girls, or I don't find them suitable. I guess I just prefer a woman equal to me. I don't believe that that is too much to ask for, but maybe I am looking at it all wrong. Perhaps a relationship that is too equal allows no balance. I think I crossed the line of admitting I know nothing about romance a long time ago.

A yellow cab pulls up to the curb, in front of me. "Where are you headed?" The man driving asks.

"Chicago Hospice Center," I tell him quietly, "on West Congress Parkway."

The drive to the hospital is a bit far. We pass the Franklin and Elmwood Parks in the midst of the drive, I remember my father dropping me off at the Franklin park when I would stay with him and my mother would take me to the Elmwood park when I stayed with her. I always liked the Elmwood park better.

I find out the driver's name is Amar. He is friendly. He talks primarily positive of his ex-wife and practically gushes about his little girl. He tells me he and his ex-wife fell out of love, and then the question turns to me and he asks, "Is there anybody special in your life? Valentine's day will be here soon enough," he jokes. It's only October.

I make a sound somewhere between a groan and a sigh, shaking my head. His eyes flicker to the backseat in the rearview mirror, a smirk on his face. I can't tell if he's nosey, or if his charm just makes it too easy to speak to him.

"Not at the moment," I finally decide on. He chuckles.

"No?" Amar pries.

"No," I say, "I've experienced a few attempts, but that's about as deep as they run."

"That's quite sad, I have to say," he replies. I almost roll my eyes, but instead I nod. He would be, in fact right, if I were telling the whole truth.

"Well there was one really good one..." I start, "One good relationship. But it's been years. I doubt she's even in this state anymore."

"You never know," Amar shrugs. "Some people never leave the place they've always known. And if she has family here, there's a possibility she returns quite often. Who knows, I could have driven her home before," he chuckles, "Tell me about her."

 _What have I got to lose?_

"...I met her when I was in college," I say. "She was still a senior in high school at the time."

"Did you show up to the homecoming with her?" Amar jokes. This time I do roll my eyes.

"Definitely not. In fact, I'm positive her parents didn't even know about me at the time," I shake my head. I wonder if she ever did tell them about me. _Probably not_. "I'm sure I broke her heart..." I admit, the weight on my chest feels heavy. It certainly broke mine, being so far away from her day after day. We barely had the same free times, and because of my parents, I felt as though I never had a good reason to come back on the holidays.

The holidays were rough for my family. I used to switch off over the years; I'd spend Thanksgiving with my father and Christmas with my mother one year, then the opposite the next. The older I got, the more annoying it became and eventually the holidays meant nothing but bitter resentment to me. My father was never in a good mood, and it was always just me and him—he never did anything special for me. My mother loved the holidays, and always went overboard. I never caught her almost infectious cheer for them, but I preferred to spend the holidays with her, regardless. When I turned sixteen, I decided to stop visiting my father all together—I don't think he even cared.

Amar makes a motion to shut the glass window between us, "I don't talk to boys who hurt little girls." I only know he is joking when he doesn't shut the window and asks, "What did you do?"

"Well it wasn't so much just what I did, I guess... it was everything that came with it. I met her when she was graduating high school—I was graduating from a two year program, and transferring out to Boston College was a definite before her. She knew that. We had the whole summer together, and then I moved out to Boston—it was my escape from my parents," I see Amar smirk, "We kept in touch almost every day, and I would even visit her on the holiday breaks. Then fast forward to our second year, long distance, keeping in touch got harder and harder. She worked in the mornings and took night classes, while I took morning classes and worked nights—and when I did come to visit, we rarely saw each other then. We started fighting a lot, mostly about stupid stuff, and I figured maybe she had started a new life for herself in college. So I decided not to tell her I was going to stay in Boston, out of her way. I thought if I had disappeared in the shadows, it would have been easier to forget it all. I didn't expect to start a real life outside of Chicago, and she eventually gave up trying to get in touch with me. It killed me to ignore her messages and her calls, but I wanted her to forget about me. But I know me not telling her was the worst thing I could have done... it didn't solve anything between us."

"That's rough," Amar sighs, nodding to himself.

"I mean I could have talked to her, but I didn't," I reply.

"When was the last time you saw her?"

"About four years ago now." Amar pulls up to the curb at the hospital.

"Well," he turns to face me, a card between his fingers, "keep this number, if you ever need a ride when you come back. And I expect to hear more about this girl," he says, kindly. I take the card and thank him. I get out of the taxi, and go to pay him, but Amar waves it off.

"You've kept me company today, that is payment enough," he says firmly, "I don't need your money. Save it—buy her some flowers, make things right!" I roll my eyes, but thank him again, and then he is off.

 _ **XxXxX**_

I have always hated hospitals, but hospice feels worse, it scares me more. The smell of alcohol wipes and clean metal makes me want to gag. Most hospitals revolve around the newly born and the nearly dying—with the usually mild cases in between. The clinic I walk through looks cold and clean, with snow white tiles and the bright, unforgiving fluorescent lights. The elevator is no better, with its marble walls closing in on me as I stand in my respectful corner across from a strawberry blonde woman dressed in blue scrubs. She taps her foot on the dark linoleum, looking through the stack of papers attached to the clipboard in her hands. She yawns, trying her best to stop herself. I wonder how long she's been here today.

The badge attached to her pocket says her name is Marlene. She looks young, younger than me at least. "Visiting someone?" She asks quietly. I meet her eyes, a vibrant blue despite her line of work. I nod once.

"I bet you're used to visitors walking around lost." I say, my voice shaking some. She smiles a little.

"Yes," she nods, "I still get lost from time to time if it's not my usual route."

"What is your usual route?" The conversation only works so well, but I have not forgotten about the walls around us.

"Fourth floor," she replies, "Making sure my CNAs are feeding and washing the patients, giving medications, assisting doctors, typical RN procedures."

"You look like you've been here all day," I say lightly.

"Just since five last night," She says it calm, but the small smile tells me she is making light of the fact. I don't realize she has moved closer until the elevator stops on the second floor, letting on a mother with two children and a toddler in her arms. She takes a step back to her corner.

The thought of young children here makes my stomach turn, and suddenly it is not the space that bothers me... I try to focus on anything but the walls or the children. I should have taken the stairs. There is quiet music playing above my head, the really old music only that "nearly dying" percentage seems to know.

The pit in my stomach grows when the elevator dings and we arrive on the fourth floor.

The nurse gives me a quiet "see you around," before heading off in the opposite direction.

The hallways are long and confusing, only seeming to grow more complicated the farther I walk. There are reception desks around every corner practically, for every new set of rooms harboring patients. Eventually I have to ask where I should be going to get to my mother's room. Turns out, I am supposed to be on the other side of the fourth floor.

When I finally get where I need to be, I see my mother's room. Room _406_.

My mother looks frail against the white pillows. Her skin, like an ivory cream, missing it's warm, golden tan. Her brown curls are gone, thanks to all of the chemotherapy. She raises a shaky hand at me, the IV keeping her from reaching anymore, and I move like she is pulling me toward her bedside.

"Tobias," she wheezes, her smile looks pained.

"Mom," I smile, but it nearly kills me to act like she looks the same as ever. My step-father makes his way down the hall, a woman behind him, that I assume is one of the nurses, given she carries a stethoscope around her neck. I realize then that it is the same strawberry blonde in blue scrubs from the elevator, and she must notice it too because she gives me a small sympathetic smile.

My mother sits up in bed while the nurse checks her heartbeat and her blood pressure one last time. She was diagnosed with leukemia about three and a half years ago; she wanted to see me before they had the plugs pulled for good. Her cancer was too far beyond the point of treatment; she had been in this hospital day after day, for every holiday. This was her decision, she was getting tired of fighting. She'd done it all her adult life, but not just with the cancer.

I hold her hand, and suddenly it becomes the heaviest thing I have ever held. I didn't spend as much time with my mother as I should have these last few years. Especially being in Boston. I think of all the birthdays she gave me, all of the football games, soccer games, and hockey games she attended throughout my twelve years in school. All of the times she made sure I ate dinner, and that I had looked presentable for all of my job interviews. I kiss her forehead and look at the photos of us on her bedside table.

Camping trips, holidays, birthdays, game days, dinners, and her second wedding. I was fourteen when she remarried. In a few of the photos I'm not smiling. I kept a straight face because at fifteen, sixteen, seventeen it wasn't the thing for teenage boys to smile in photos. Especially not with their mothers, or a parent for that matter. The next one I look at, I am standing next to my step-father in his military uniform, my mother to his right. She is smiling but she looks sad that he will be gone for six months, maybe more depending on the situation. The next one, I am standing next to my friends Zeke and Shauna at the senior prom; my black tux and gray tie. Zeke's gray blazer and gold undershirt and his arm around Shauna's waist in her gold, beaded dress. It's been a while since I have seen them, too. I wonder if they have come to visit her at all since I've been gone. My mother used to love when Zeke would come visit with new riddles, or jokes.

I don't want to hear anything anyone says in the room, because I don't want to hear when they unplug my mother's machine. My step-father and my mother share one last kiss, before the doctor asks if she's ready to begin. He explains to her that she will feel uncomfortable for a few moments but that the pain will not last long. She says goodbye to the nurses she has befriended over the years, and she thanks the doctor for all of his help.

The machine she is hooked up to hums for a few more minutes, before I hear the flat line. My mother's grip tightens for a few moments, and then her fingers releases mine like a breath of air. And that is it. My mother's pain is over, she is in a better place just like that. No more pain, and I know that is all she really needed after all this time. So many years of putting up a fight, and she finally got some peace.

For a while, I refuse to move from my spot. My mother looks as if she's sleeping, but there is no rise and fall of her chest. No sign of life, and I know that she is not just sleeping. I feel nothing and everything all at once. Numb and cold and too warm and sad. I feel my heart, slamming in my chest a few moments ago, finally quiets down.

I have lost my mother.

 _ **XxXxX**_

I'm sitting in a crowded café the next morning, the noise sounding more peaceful than a quiet hospital room. I haven't even sipped the black coffee sitting in front of me.

I'm waiting for Zeke and Shauna, I told them I would be back in town. I wait another couple of minutes, checking my watch often, until I see Zeke holding the door open and Shauna saunter in ahead of him. I stand up, hugging Shauna back the moment she pulls me in and I think to myself I have never needed this more than right now. Even though hugs used to feel unnatural to me from anyone but my mother, after all this time it feels more natural than ever.

"It's good seeing you again, T," Shauna smiles, unwrapping her arms from around my neck. As she takes the seat next to me I notice the ring on her finger.

"It's been a while. Nice rock," I comment. She blushes and then straightens the ring, "when did that happen?"

"May," she answers. I think to myself, _May, June, July, August, September_ , _Octob—_

"So you've been engaged for five months and never even told me?"

Shauna scoffs, "I told you. Maybe you should check your voicemails every once in a while. Decided Boston wasn't all it seems to be? We thought you moved out there for good."

"Not for good, not really," I say, "but you knew about my mother being sick..." A lump in my throat forms as I remember yesterday morning.

"Yeah," Shauna nods, "how is she doing?"

"She's... _better_ ," is all I say. I told them I was back visiting her, I didn't tell them I wasn't sure how long we had.

"That doesn't sound convincing," she says lightly. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright," I tell them, "she's not in any more pain." I clear my throat, and take a sip of my coffee. It's room temperature. "I don't really want to talk about her right now, I can't..." I shift in my seat uncomfortably, then change the subject, "So when's the big day?"

"March 12," Zeke answers.

"You will be here in town for that day, right?" Shauna asks.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," I say. They smile.

"Good," she replies, "You better be here. Will you be at the engagement party? I know it's super late, but late is better than not having one—it's October 25, and will you be bringing a plus one?" She fires off questions one after the other.

"No, and no," I shake my head, "It'll likely be me, myself, and I."

"Really?" She asks, "nobody else?"

"I haven't been with anyone else," I sigh. I never told them about Tris that much. They knew _of_ her, but they didn't really _know_ her. Shauna frowns.

"Really?" She asks again.

"Look," I start sheepishly, "I'm not some twenty-six-year-old virgin, okay? I'm not that pathetic... I just don't really need anybody else right now."

"You can't be lonely forever," Shauna says, "I want your future Mrs. and I to be great friends and have our kids be best friends—,"

"—How long have you been planning this out?" I ask her, shaking my head.

"That is none of your concern," she retorts, wrinkling her nose at me, "...Okay, maybe since senior year when Zeke and I were official, and I thought about how we've all been so close for so long now."

"You're crazy," I laugh.

"I'm a girl," she shrugs. "And whatever happened you and Tris...?"

"I don't really want to talk about her, either." I say, giving Shauna a warning look.

"T, come on," she whines, "What happened to you guys?"

"We broke up, Shauna," I sigh, "There's not much else to say, I don't know what you want from me. I'm fine alone, I always have been."

"You say that now," Shauna rolls her eyes at me, "but you'll regret it someday. Nobody wants to be alone forever—no matter who you think you are."

"I'll think about it, okay?" I say, and immediately she smiles again. She's not hard to please, as long as she hears what she wants to hear. "But I'm not promising anything."

"Okay, fair enough." She grabs my coffee and tosses it into a nearby trash can, "I'm buying more coffee—just black, right?"

"Please," I nod.

"You know how I take mine," Zeke tells her, watching as she leaves the table. Zeke turns to me, "Can you believe it, man?"

"No," I laugh, "It's a bit surreal—but somehow, I always knew. My mother did, too." Zeke grins.

"I met her in fifth grade. That's a long time ago."

"It is," I say.

"I'm gonna be twenty-seven this year," Zeke beams, and the smile lights up his entire face, "Shauna wants to make a big deal out of it, you know? Like a party and whatnot."

"You should let her," I tell him, "You'll never be twenty-seven again."

"I know, but there are bigger milestones like forty, or fifty. Eighty even."

"Don't worry, you're even close to eighty yet," I say, shaking my head. "You've got plenty of time with her."

"Well, I wanted to ask you how you've been..." Zeke says, checking to see if Shauna is still preoccupied at the counter. "You know, Uri goes to school with Tris."

"Where?"

"The university," he answers with a shrug, "She and him are actually good friends."

"Really?" I ask. I almost don't believe him—the idea of Tris still being so close. I want to see her, but I doubt she would want to see me.

"Well, Uriah told me there's a possibility she'll be attending the engagement party. And the wedding. I couldn't tell him no, she's his best friend."

"No, I get it," I say, "She should be able to go."

"I just don't want that to waver your attendance," Zeke says, shrugging, "I don't think you'd let Shauna down and not show up, I just wanted you to know."

"I appreciate it," I say. Shauna returns with our coffees then, and Zeke smiles innocently, like we just talked about nothing in particular. I zone out most of their conversation as I think about what Zeke has just told me. I can't not go now—I told Shauna I would go, and I don't want to miss my best friends' engagement party just because of a silly girl.

It does make me wonder about her more, however. Will she look different, or the same? Will she be bringing anybody? A date, maybe? I don't know how I would feel about that—not that my thoughts matter, it's none of my business now.

I guess I will have to wait and see.

 _ **XxXxX**_

My mother's house is cleared out by the end of the week. My step-father takes his stuff and I help him move into an apartment. He feels their house is too big and too empty without her.

I can't say that I blame him. If it were just me and my mother again, I don't think I would choose to stay either.

I stand in my old bedroom, now that it's empty I almost don't recognize it. However, the paint chips, almost unnoticeable because of the light blue walls, and cracks from settling I could never forget. I used to kick a worn out soccer ball against these walls, one I stole from the neighbors' kids because they called me 'weird' that one time.

My mother used to kick it, too, though much softer than I tended to. When she was having a bad day, or she felt upset, she'd come into my room and we'd play soccer for a little bit until she felt better.

She always did the same for me, until I turned seventeen and thought I was too old for mother and son bonding. That was right around the time she met Edgar. He came off too strong at first, for a good while I hated him. But as the years went on he lost his edge and I actually thought he was good company for my mother.

I left for Boston, and they left to travel. Until she got sick, that is.

I pick up my box of belongings, all of the things I kept behind when I left. I didn't want to leave my mother with no trace of me.

I sit down on the floor and start rummaging through the boxes, pushing wrestling and martial arts trophies and medals to the sides. I had begged her for years to put me in lessons, and when she finally did they were all I thought about, dreamed about even. I have barely used a moved since I was thirteen.

Beneath my accolades, there are photographs. More from my high school football games, the homecoming dances I was forced to attend by cheerleaders that wanted a football player as their date... One of the photographs stands out to me in particular: a familiar blonde-head and grey-blue eyes.

This is the Tris I remember. The girl I left behind.

She's just turned towards the camera, laughing over something. My arm is around her shoulders; I have a beer in my hand and I remember I was six months short of twenty-two. Legally, I could drink at the time—she, however, couldn't. I can't say her age really stopped her from doing so anyway.

I don't remember where it was taken, but I see my college roommate, Eric, in the background. Others standing around a keg, a girl in the far right reaching to take her top of. _It was definitely a college-party_...

I wasn't one for parties, even then. I don't think she was either, but I'm glad it looked like we were having fun. I barely remember the party, or why we even went. I think I had already had too much to drink before this was taken.

All I remember from that night was thinking how beautiful and happy she looked. And maybe stealing her away from conversations to kiss her every once in a while; I don't think I was inappropriate with her, it wasn't like I was all of the frat boys trying to bed her.

I already had her.

I stared at the picture for a few more moments then tuck it into my jacket pocket and stand up, taking my box out to my truck. It sat, covered by a tarp in the driveway. My mother must have done it after I left. She must have found the photograph too, because I remember tacking it to the wall face-down so that only I would selfishly know about Tris this way.

I picture my mother taking it down, and flipping it over to see it. I picture her smile as she realizes it's a rare photo of me with a smile on my face and my arm around a girl. I know for a fact she didn't care about the beer in my hand because I looked at least twenty-one at the time and the photo isn't dated. But she always hated alcohol being in the house, because of my father. I shake the thought from my head.

I wonder if my mother ever asked herself how old Tris was. And if she planned on asking me before she passed.

The picture feels as heavy as rocks in my pocket. The last glimpse I have of her—unless I do see her next Sunday at the party. I don't know if I'm ready to see her again. Being back here in Chicago, I realize she is consuming my thoughts again. It was easy out in Boston; I worked all of the time, so it was easy to forget. But there are so many memories I have here, of her—with her. As I drive past areas I remember too well, I just picture her face in stranger's passing by.

I feel like I am going crazy, and I will keep going crazy until I see her again.

 _ **XxXxX**_

I meet Zeke and Shauna the next morning at an old breakfast joint we used to go to on mornings we decided we were gonna be late to school. Shauna has already ordered for me, there is a plate in front of my seat as I sit down across from them.

I grab the photo from my jacket and slide it across the table. Shauna picks it up carefully, as though it is the most fragile thing she's ever held. Zeke peers over at it beside her.

"Wow, where did you find this?" Shauna asks, "that's Tris, alright."

I bite the inside of my cheek, "I didn't realize Uriah knew her that well."

"I think they graduated together," Zeke says, nodding to himself, "maybe one or two classes together in high school. But now they schedule their classes together."

"They sound like a couple," Shauna remarks. I know she is joking, but I can't help the uneasiness I feel at the thought. I know Uriah is a good kid—he would be good to her, I don't doubt that at all. But I can't help feeling just a little jealous.

"I didn't expect you to have an actual photo with her," Shauna smirks, "since when do you smile for photos?"

"I was a little drunk," I answer. _And she was worth smiling about_. Shauna snorts.

" _Clearly_ ," she hands me back the photo and I tuck it safely into my pocket once again.

"I'm sure Zeke already told you then," she says. I sigh, and nod. "You're still coming, right?"

"Of course," I tell her, "I told you Shauna, I wouldn't miss it. I'm not gonna go back on my word." Shauna smiles, relieved.

"Okay... so what exactly happened? You never really told us."

I feel my face heat up—it's hard to admit my mistake, but I know they won't judge me for it, "Well, I transferred to Boston to finish schooling—you already knew why I left. Before all of that I met Tris while I was here, working in the library to pay for my classes at the university. She was always at the library, so it was easy enough to see her. We started talking more and I realized I really did like her..." I feel my skin heat up more as I think to myself, _I loved her_ , "I wanted to take her with me to Boston while I finished school out there. She graduated that summer I met her, and enrolled at the university. She knew I was leaving at some point, I had everything all set before her... I wanted to bring her with me while I finished school out there, but I knew she had her friends and family here. Her parents never knew about me, if I had just whisked her away to Boston with me that would have been bad. I figured she didn't need me and that she'd be fine on her own when our communication became sparse over the next two years after that. I got the job opportunity while I was there and it pays really well. I worked nights originally. At the time, I was taking classes in the morning and she had just finished her first two years but she was working longer hours to pay for school. Before all of that, you both knew I had been thinking of leaving Chicago for so long after my parents' divorce, because of my father mostly... Everything seemed to fall into place, all while we basically fell out of touch. It seemed we never had a moment to talk, and when we did we would argue. I planned to come back for her... but I was selfish, I needed that job. I couldn't turn down a living, a chance to finally leave my old self behind. I was hoping to come back some day and talk to her about it and tell her we could have a life together in Boston but I was afraid to. I was afraid of ending things in an argument if she wanted to stay and I wanted to leave. We were only together about eight months before I left for school on the East Coast... I thought it was too fast, and too crazy. It was an amazing job opportunity, and it still is. They respect me there, and I'm one of their best employees... You know the rest, my mother got really sick and so here I am again. Four years later..."

"I'm sure she would have loved to have moved out there with you, or she would have told you to stay out there and take the opportunity too, T." Shauna says, "if she really cared about you. If she cared as much as you still do, she would have said one or the other. It looks to me like you were both just very invested in school and your jobs at the time..." I never really saw it like that—I always saw it as just neither one of us ever making the time for each other anymore. Maybe Shauna's thoughts hold some truth.

"I just wish now, looking back on it, that I had at least told her."

"Nobody's perfect," Zeke says.

"It was a mistake," Shauna reassures me, "and you learned from it, right?"

"Absolutely," I sigh, feeling a headache forming in my skull.

"I'm not saying you have to kiss and make up right away, but if she wants a conclusion—at the very least, you can give her that. If she's willing to listen, she might come to her senses. You're a great guy—you suck at relationships," Shauna laughs lightheartedly, "but you're a great guy, T."

"Thank you, Shauna," I roll my eyes at her joke.

 _ **XxXxX**_

I try to tell myself, I'm only here until after the engagement party and the funeral. But that is not true, because now I don't think I can leave again until I mend things with Tris. Shauna knocks on the door twice, breaking me from my thoughts, she asks, "is this okay? I know it's a little small but..."

"It's perfect, thank you," I say with a nod, "I don't need that much space, I swear."

"You're a guest."

"That you've known for how many years?" I ask with a small smile, and then repeat, "I don't need that much space, I promise." Staying in my truck for the last two nights was awful, but I refuse to stay, let alone visit, my father. I doubt he even knew my mother was sick, but I'm sure he knows now about the funeral.

I'm thankful that Shauna and Zeke took me in for the time being. Though they are my friends, I feel terrible intruding on their space. However, another reason I have to thank them for is that Chicago can be unbearably cold this time of year, especially at night.

She hesitates at the door, about to leave, but turns back to me and says, "I meant to ask yesterday... when is your mother's funeral?"

"I'm not sure yet..." I say lightly, "Edgar is putting the pieces together." _He's paying for it all too_...

"You'll let us know, right?"

"Yes," I say quietly. I thank her once more before she shuts the door behind her. For a few minutes, I sit on the bed and I think about my mother; I think about Edgar. He's distraught, but he insisted on the funeral service. My mother never liked to think of how it would be planned out, I imagine she and Edgar have talked about it during her final days though. I was always thankful for how thoughtful he was to my mother—I never cared to know him well, but I knew he was better for her than my own father.

My phone goes off on the night stand, a part of me hoping by some stupid fate that it could be Tris, or even my mother. I miss them both, but in two very different ways.

I turn the screen on, finding it to be neither of the two. It is my coworker, Nita. We haven't spoken in weeks, mostly because I have been so preoccupied with my mother's illness and rearranging plans to see her before she went. And partially because I believe she has the wrong idea with me.

 **Hey Tobias**

I wonder what she could possibly be messaging me right now for. I reply much quicker than I mean to, hoping it is only a message about work. Though it usually isn't...

 _Hey Nita, how have you been?_ She is quick to respond, my phone goes off with another message.

 **I've been well, but Matthew told me you were out of town? For how long? The office won't be the same without you.**

 _I'm not sure how long I will be gone for. Might be a few weeks. Family emergency._

 **Okay :( I just wanted to make sure you weren't running away or anything ;) if you need anything, let me know.**

 _Of course, thank you_. I don't really care to keep talking to her—but it's not her fault, she doesn't know anything about the situation. I can't bring myself to tell her that much, that would be opening up a whole mess she doesn't need to know of.

 **Good! See you in a few weeks then. Have a good night.**

 _Goodnight Nita_.

I haven't even been gone a week. It's been three days at most. But I can't be mean to her—she is my coworker after all, and I know she means well. She is attractive, but there is nothing interesting about her—to me, at least. I have always gotten a sense that Nita relies on my company a little too much. Perhaps I have accidentally planted that thought into her mind. She is a nice enough woman, but I can only be around her for so long. Long nights at the office can be suffocating.

Speaking of nights, they are routinely the worst time for me when I am by myself, because my brain works faster in the time I get alone. I think more, usually about the bad stuff. For once, however, I think of something good. I think about Tris. I think about the first time we met.

 _February, it's even colder in Chicago than it is in January. It's raining outside, and the sky is a mix of ivory and rust. I'm up on one of the ladders, placing books from the return bins back into their rightful spots. Because of the weather, the library is full of adults looking for books to pass the time and students looking to pass their classes._

 _I am almost finished with this bin. I jump down from the ladder and go to push the bin down the aisle. As I take the turn for the next one, I don't see the girl coming down the aisle in time and the front of my cart nearly takes her out._

 _"Shit—!" Her books hit the ground in various thuds, some landing in my bin. I hear a loud "Shhhh!" from a few aisles over. I react quickly, reaching down to help her recollect her items, "I didn't even see you, I'm sorry—!" She picks up her books one by one, and I grab the two that fell into the bin. "I'm sorry," I say again._

 _Her eyes finally meet mine. They take me by surprise for a moment; despite having nearly run this poor girl over, she still looks at me with an apology of her own. Her eyes are a shade of blue I've never seen before, with tints of grey and silver. The corner of her lips curl up and her face flushes a light pink, "maybe I should have made some noise," she teases awkwardly. And it works. I chuckle._

 _"Considering we're in a library, I might have had to throw you out for that," I joke back. "Perhaps we'll call this even." She smiles more, and it causes a stir in my stomach. At least she's alright enough to joke about it, I think to myself. I swallow the slight fear rising in my chest as I say, "I'm Tobias."_

 _"Well, Tobias, you have quite a method to meeting people," she says, "is this how you tend to meet girls? Nearly running them over?"_

 _I smirk. "Not exactly," I say, "It would seem I have a knack for being quite offensive actually..." I mentally slap myself._ Why did I just tell her that? _She doesn't look even the slightest bit phased by what I've just admitted._

 _Instead she laughs, "Fair enough. I guess this is sort of better...?" she jokes, "I'm Tris."_

 _"I swear, running you over wasn't my intention," I tell her. I swallow again, "Even, if we had met differently, I wouldn't have used some cheesy accidental-run-in to pick you up."_

 _"So you're trying to pick me up now?" She asks. I shake my head quickly._

 _"Well not really pick-you-up," I stutter, "I didn't mean it like that—,"_

 _"—You're not being offensive," she smiles. I feel some of the tension leave my muscles, "I promise."_

 _I breathe a sigh of relief and laugh a little, "thank God."_

 _"I should really be going, though," she says after a moment, looking around, "I have to find my brother. That was my whole purpose for scaling these aisles, actually."_

 _"Okay," I say awkwardly._

 _"It was nice meeting you, Tobias," Tris says, about to walk away. I work up the courage I have left._

 _"Wait—,"I call, earning another loud "shhh!". I lower my voice, "wait, Tris?" She turns back to me, pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear._ It's now or never _, "Could I see you again?"_

 _She blushes, "I'll be here again." She leaves it at that, and I feel the smile on my face grow. I don't know when 'again' is, but I look forward to it. And I think I will be taking on more shifts just to make my chances greater..._

I pull the picture out one last time, memorizing her face. One thing I'm absolutely sure of: I will see Tris at the engagement party. Though I don't know what to expect, I hope we will get the chance to talk. But with that thought I get into bed and leave the picture on the nightstand, and sleep finds me much quicker now that I am not trying to get comfortable in a cramped front seat.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hey all! Sorry for the slight inactivity in updates, there was the week I was spitting out stories and updates left and right, and then I wasn't, but I'm here to tell you I haven't left! My classes and my job have kept me busy, busy but I've been fantasizing about some updates I haven't published yet, SO with that being said, I hope you enjoy this first one!**

 _ **Chapter 2 – Tobias's POV**_

I meet with Edgar the next morning to discuss some details about my mother's funeral. "I would like to have a wake for Evelyn," Edgar tells me. I nod.

"Would it be an open wake?" I ask him.

"It would be, I don't want to keep anyone from saying their goodbyes," he says, "but I'm afraid of if Marcus shows up." I already knew Edgar wants to keep the funeral small and private, and I also knew it is because he doesn't want my father to show up. I can't say that I blame him.

"I don't think my father would make a scene if he did," I reassure him. I know for a fact Marcus wouldn't put such a negative impression of himself out there. He wants people to think my parents split because of my mother.

"I don't think so either, I suppose," he says, "Evelyn always told me the same thing."

"If anyone knew my father best, it was my mother," I sigh heavily. Edgar nods solemnly.

"I would like to have her wake on Friday evening at the Marin funeral home, and the funeral on Saturday morning at the Gatling's Chapel." I realize then that all of my plans are set in stone as of this week—the wake on Friday, the funeral on Saturday, and Shauna and Zeke's engagement party the following Sunday.

I feel like a ping pong ball, being thrown into all different directions suddenly. I could cry, or throw up—do I even have a choice to say no to any of this? I don't. I wouldn't want to rearrange anything anyway.

"I will make a few calls and we will have all of this sorted out," Edgar pulls his cellphone out and dials a number. I wait around as he makes some other calls and soon enough it all feels too real. I know what I need to do now, though.

 _ **xxxxx**_

I sit in my truck outside the house I remember too well.

I straighten up, my hands shake, and I feel like all of the air in my throat is trapped. I can't remember the last time I saw Marcus. Perhaps it was before the Christmas of my freshman year—when I finally worked up the courage to tell my mother I wanted nothing to do with seeing him anymore. I remember she told me my arrangements were final that year, but the year after, I don't remember stepping foot through this door again.

I'm not even sure if Marcus is home. I could be waiting for him if he isn't—and that would make this anxiety much worse.

I shake out my hands as I pull the key from the ignition, and I try to shut the door without making any sound. I see the curtain draw back in the front room, and fire burns up my throat. I expect the front door to open up immediately, but then again I haven't come here in so long, perhaps he wants me to stay away.

I could get back into my truck and speed off. I could leave this behind and forget like it ever happened. I could leave Marcus in the dark again.

I have to tell him, however. At one point my father did love my mother. Even if he doesn't care now, I will be free of this guilty conscience.

The door is the only thing between us now. My hand feels like a ton of bricks as I lift it, and knock twice. I don't hear anything at first, and I go to knock louder, feeling a swell of irritation suddenly.

Just as my fingers graze the wood, the door swings open, and Marcus eyes my coldly.

I feel twelve years old again.

"Tobias," Marcus's voice softens momentarily. The weight on my chest is too heavy, crushing, breaking my ribs, and my lungs. It's like if I speak, my voice will be nothing. Fire rips through my chest, and I realize I have forgotten to breath properly.

"Marcus," I try to say, but it sounds wrong. He is my father—but it is hard to call him so.

"I wasn't expecting you."

I clear my throat, "I-I know... I wasn't expecting to be standing here, either."

"Why are you?"

Moment of truth. I breathe through my nose, and open my mouth to speak clearly, "Mom passed away a few days ago... I don't know how much you knew, but she was sick. Leukemia..."

"I spoke with her when she was first hospitalized," Marcus says. I didn't know my parents were on speaking terms—at least not back then. "I didn't know how serious it got."

"The wake is Friday night at four, at the Marin funeral home," I tell him, looking at the ground. Anywhere but his eyes—he doesn't sound heartless, but I can't tell if this is a mask, "The funeral is Saturday morning at eight, at the Gatling's Chapel."

"I will see what I can attend," is all he says. "I'm sure there are a few people that would prefer not to see me." I feel a flare of anger— _I'll see what I can attend._ Like he has no time for anything _, either of us_ , still.

"More than a few, actually," I say suddenly, meeting his cold stare, "but I just thought the least you could do was pay some respect, if you have any." I don't give him time to say another word. I head down the front steps and I get into my truck, speeding down the road before he has the chance to stop me. Like he can still stop me.

The hardest thing I had to do is finally over, and as the anger sets in, I realize I don't care if Marcus comes or not. At least he knows, but I wouldn't care if he didn't anymore.

 _ **xXxXx**_

Shauna gets home first that night. She notices me at the kitchen table, and I look up at her questioning look.

"You look miserable," she states. I scoff.

"Always Captain Obvious," I tell her. Shauna rolls her eyes.

"What's wrong?" She takes the seat across from me, throwing her jacket onto the back of her chair.

"I went to visit Marcus today," I say, rubbing the palms of my hands together in front of me. Her eyes grow wide, "I can't tell if it was a mistake or not."

"What happened?"

"Edgar and I finished up the details for my mother's services, and I had this voice in my head telling me I should let Marcus know... my mother and father were in love at some point—at least I would hope so. I doubt arranged marriages in America were still a popular thing in the eighties." My parents got married in '82. Then I was born 9 months later, in the early year of '83.

"I think you did something good," Shauna says after a moment, "how did Marcus react?"

"Stone-faced as usual," I shake my head, "I think he's void of all emotions and feelings."

She smirks some, "Well we already knew Marcus was a cold-hearted bastard. Maybe it's best to just leave it the way it is—you told him and that's all you really can do. You can't make Marcus feel what he doesn't want to, or act how he doesn't want to."

"I know," I sigh, "I just can't help feeling disappointed."

"Maybe that's just how things have to be," she shrugs, "You can't change something like that."

"You're right," I say after a moment. For once, she doesn't mock me on admitting that.

"When is the funeral?" She asks lightly.

"The wake is Friday night, and the funeral is Saturday morning."

"Zeke and I will be there," Shauna nods.

"Thank you," I tell her. She smiles.

"You don't have to thank me," she says, "Zeke and I have always been there for you, and we always will be. You know that." I nod, and wonder how I ever got so lucky with good friends.

 _ **xXxXx**_

I have dreaded this day since my mother's diagnosis.

I follow Edgar to the casket, and I feel a wave of nausea wash over me as I look at my mother. She looks like she could be sleeping peacefully, but death and sleep are different. Even now—my mother doesn't look the same at all. Her skin is too bright with all of the make up on her. My mother is beautiful, and she always was, even when cancer took everything from her. Her hair frames her face in chestnut curls, but I know this isn't real. My mother had no hair left, and when she did it was lighter than this. Her mouth naturally curves down, it's where I got it from, but she looks like she could be smiling right now.

I feel cold, and I can't tell if it's because of the sight I am seeing, or because the air conditioning is up too high.

I close my eyes and for a moment I will myself not to lose it all in front of everyone. I think about all of the times I did have with my mother—I think about all the time I spent away from her, too. Even throughout all of the pain she endured, she always found a way to stay positive. I know she wouldn't want me crying, and it is the only thing holding me together right now.

I open my eyes and I wish my mother one final goodbye.

People file into the venue after Edgar and I have kneeled, and they begin their prayers. I have never been a religious person, but I can't help wondering if my mother is watching me up there somewhere.

The worst part about wakes is having to look every single person in the eye as they tell me they are sorry for my loss. I hate it—I feel trapped, and unsure. I know they loved my mother, and they mean well, but each person that tells me this just sounds like a record on repeat.

Edgar has always been good to my mother, but as I stand beside him I feel awkward. I feel like it should be my biological father here; Edgar has no relation to me, other than being my mother's _now_ second ex-husband.

I have to take deep breaths as tears flow down my relatives faces'. I hate tears and I hate hugs, both make me feel uncomfortable. Tears, though natural, are too stifling. And hugs are just too trapping. I feel constricted, and I wanted to pull away quicker than they do. I hope they see it as me trying to keep the line moving.

Shauna and Zeke are next in line, and I see Shauna's eyes watering already. Zeke has always been emotionally stronger than all of us—I'm not sure how he does it, but even with Shauna's waterworks, he manages to keep his face controlled. They each hug me, Shauna holding on tight and Zeke giving me one of his best, reassuring ones. I ask them to remain standing with me so I don't feel so awkward. And my mother would want them here, they were like her own children to her, too.

The service continues on well past eight. I don't see my father once—I'm not really surprised, but I feel the swell of disappointment again, and eventually, after the last few people shuffle out, Edgar and I give our last round of thank you's.

I follow Zeke and Shauna home, where they pull out shot glasses and a bottle of Zeke's best combination—triple sec, lime juice, and vodka.

We toast to my mother.

 _ **xxxxx**_

I remind myself to never allow Zeke to pour me more than five shots in a single setting, especially when my last meal was the day prior to yesterday. Though it was nice to forget why I was sad for a little while.

I am only slightly hungover, but a headache begins to form in the back of my head as I stand up, and get ready for my mother's funeral.

I am not fully ready to say my final goodbye, but I also want today to be over with already. Like if I don't go, or it doesn't happen, then I don't have to say goodbye just yet. I know that is absurd, however.

We head to the chapel around seven-thirty. Edgar waits for us outside as he talks to some of my family I haven't seen in years. Friends of my mother greet me, and exchange small talk. I don't try to stay in the conversation very long, and I'm thankful when Shauna steps in.

Uriah comes up to us at some point, he gives me a gentle smile and then nearly bear-hugs me. I welcome it for once, today I need his help.

The chapel is a long, white building, with a dull pointed roof in the front and black shutters around each window. Flowers are aligned up the banister to the doorway, and my mother's portrait sits outside. People begin to head inside, and I sit beside Edgar in the front pew. Shauna, Uriah and Zeke sit behind us.

As the precession begins, the pastor speaks. I know I should be listening, there is so much put into this that I feel rude. It is only when he begins to talk about her life, that I begin to listen. Soon enough I will be up there speaking—I know my mother would have wanted that.

He finishes his speech and nods to me. I raise from the pew, feeling my hands shake at my sides. I have never been afraid to speak in front of people, but today I am overwhelmed by everything all at once.

I stand next to my mother's portrait, the casket is closed behind me today. Flowers overpower the platform around her. I swallow hard—I have nothing written, or even prepared for this moment. I told Edgar last minute that I wanted to speak, but I don't need it written down.

"Thank you all for being here to celebrate my mother's life," I start, "my mother would have hugged each and every one of you, she was always one for interaction. I think she blossomed in it, she always knew what to say. Even if she only met you once, she never forgot who you were.

My mother was an incredible person. Her life was full of hardship, but she never lost her strength. She never lost hope, and she projected those feelings onto everyone in the room with her. Unfortunately, her strength couldn't keep up forever—which is why we're here, celebrating her today," I see sad smiles and nods from her relatives, I hear sniffles and I see tears forming. I feel my throat tighten, but I have more to say.

"I didn't get to spend as much time with her these last few years," I say slowly, "Now I wish that I did have more time. I wish I had made more time—but I know she wouldn't want me blaming myself, that's just how she was. She was very forgiving, very understanding.

I'm thankful she had Edgar. She didn't fight alone, and he devoted so much time to her, my mother was truly loved. And I know she will be remembered after today, for years to come. Thank you for showing my mother how much she meant to all of you," I say, "It means a lot to her, and to me, and our family."

The service ends around eleven thirty, and we follow the hearse to the cemetery. There are already flowers and ribbons waiting when we find her spot. This is where I see more tears than the service, including my own.

Shauna hugs my arm, wiping away at her own tears. As they lower my mother into the ground, Edgar grabs a handful of dirt. I do the same, and for a moment I believe the wind will take all of it out of my hands.

I ask Zeke and Shauna to grab a handful each as well, and they do without hesitation. Edgar lets me go first, and then him, and Shauna, and then Zeke.

I look up they begin to fill the rest of the dirt in, and I notice my father has not shown up today either. I imagine he didn't show up because of what I said.

" _I will see what I can attend... I'm sure there are a few people that would prefer not to see me."_

" _More than a few, actually. But I just thought the least you could do was pay some respect, if you have any."_

I can't say that I am surprised, or even disappointed anymore. Part of me knew he wouldn't show up, whether he knew or not. Shauna believes it wasn't a mistake telling him, and maybe she's right, but I can't help wondering if it was even worth it.

 _ **xXxXx**_

I wish I could freeze time.

Since I have returned, I feel like time has hit the highway and I'm still stuck at a red light. I can barely process anything, and this weekend in particular has hit me like a train.

"So why did you wait so long for the engagement party?" I ask Shauna the next morning. She shrugs, she is standing at the coffee pot by the sink, in Zeke's sweatpants and a black tank top. Bumps form on her skin as she opens the fridge, pulling out the milk.

"Zeke and I were always so busy," she says, "and there is no rush to get married. Hence the March wedding date."

"Smart," I laugh, and joke, "giving yourself enough time to back out." Shauna rolls her eyes.

"If I wanted to back out I would have already," she shakes her head, "I probably would have told him no when he asked."

"So how did he propose?"

Shauna blushes, and it's a rare sight. Out of all the times Zeke and I have ever embarrassed her, she never showed it.

She clears her throat, "I think that's a question for Zeke."

"Why?" I ask, curious by her reaction.

"Trust me, he'll be more than happy to tell you," she says, taking a sip of her coffee so she can keep herself preoccupied. _Odd reaction_... there's only a few reasons I could think of that would make her act like that.

"I'll have to ask him," I say after a moment. Shauna looks at the ground, her face bright red, nodding. I laugh.

"He didn't ask you in the middle of sex, did he?" I scoff. Shauna chokes on a sip. _I knew it_... "He did, didn't he?"

"I told you to ask him," she coughs, turning away from me.

"Looks like I didn't have to," I say, laughing. Shauna shoots me a glare once her breathing is under control again. "You said yes right then and there?"

"Okay, enough questions for me! Ask Zeke," she retorts, dumping her coffee into the sink, "I need to get ready."

"Right now?" I ask, "it's only eight."

"If I don't go now, my bridesmaids will have my head," Shauna rolls her eyes, "they'll have me getting ready for hours after the party starts if I don't let them get a head start."

"Girls," I mutter, shaking my head.

"Make sure Zeke is ready before six, please and thank you," with that, she takes off out the door. I suppose I should wake Zeke up—considering Shauna will have _my_ head if Zeke doesn't show up.

 _ **xxxxx**_

The night has finally arrived. Zeke and Shauna's engagement party is in full swing.

The venue is a good size, and given the amount of guests that have attended, it was well needed. The windows across the way stand tall, from the ground beneath my feet to the floor above and so on. The skyline of Chicago is visible from the third floor up above that overlooks the dining room. I can't imagine how much Shauna's parents have paid just to rent this place for the night.

The party is nothing too extraordinary, but it is good to see some old faces. Unfortunately, Eric, my old college roommate, was invited. He was a plus one; I assume he came with Tori, Shauna's old roommate. Shauna works with them too, so I guess it was to be expected.

I take another sip of the lukewarm beer in my hands. Zeke and Shauna mingle with friends, talking about their engagement, taking their time to thank those that came and those that congratulate them, while I stand back and watch the guests talk amongst themselves.

I think about Tris, and wonder where she could be. I haven't seen Uriah yet, either, so they must be arriving together. I wonder about if she were here, attending it with me instead. At least then I wouldn't be so antisocial.

Eric notices me sitting at the bar and takes the seat beside me, holding a beer himself. On an outside look, one would think we were old friends catching up. However, this is highly inconvenient for me.

"Long time no see," he grins, and I notice the piercings still in his lip, but the one in his eyebrow is missing. The hole is still visible, perhaps he only took it out for today. Part of me can't help but wonder how anyone can get over all of that metal in his face, "how long's it been?"

"Eric," I say, keeping my eyes on my friends, "Not long enough..." I think aloud.

"What a warm welcome," he replies sarcastically.

"Well, I didn't exactly wish you a warm farewell either," I state simply.

"Where's your girlfriend?" Eric asks, then feigns an embarrassed laugh, "Oh, that's right..."

"Watch it," I snap, "I'm not about to make a scene at my friends' engagement party, so this is me telling you to kindly fuck off."

"Suit yourself, Eaton," Eric says, standing up. He smirks, then shrugs. "But you know, I did happen to see her here tonight—," I almost choke on a sip, "Just wanted to give you a heads up—the back door is open if you need to run away again." _She's here? Since when?_

Eric knew I was leaving her behind, when I left. He knew. One day my side of the room had been nearly cluttered by all of my textbooks and school papers, and then next it was all packed away into a single suitcase and on a plane to Boston.

I sigh.

I feel a slight buzz from the alcohol a little while later and decide to stop drinking anything but water. I'm not eighteen anymore, however, I know tonight is not appropriate to get piss-drunk either.

I join Shauna and Zeke and their friends eventually, listening to stories of things that happened when I took myself away from them for four years. We are all a little bit older now, but the stories still sound like us, like them.

They ask me how I've been, I exchanged greetings with new faces, and listen politely or answer their questions about my life in Boston, my job. Some of them that have already heard the news about my mother apologize for my loss but I quickly change the subject; my mother would want this kind of day to be about Shauna and Zeke, her two other "favorite children".

I feel a clap on my shoulder, and turn to see Uriah grinning at me. He wishes a congratulations to his brother and sister-in-law, and I notice a familiar blonde standing just a few feet away.

Tris. _My Tris_. She is actually here, and almost standing in front of me. Her eyes look away as quickly as they meet mine, and I notice her turn away quickly. Not the reaction I wanted, but definitely the one I expected.

"Nice to see you again, man," Uriah grins, shaking my shoulder. "This is my good friend, Tris," he motions to her and she smiles politely, but I can see it's forced. Her eyes look anxious.

"Uh, we've met," I say, awkwardly. Uriah looks between us.

"Really?" He asks, "I must not have been there," he laughs.

"No," I shake my head, "I don't think so," except I know so. He was her age at the time, but Uriah didn't go to school with her—I know that for a fact.

"When did you guys meet?" Uriah asks.

"A while ago, actually," the tension is thick. Even Shauna and Zeke have kept quiet now—I don't want to make Tris more uncomfortable, but there is no easy way around this. I keep my voice low, "We... uh, dated a few years ago..."

Now Uriah looks like he's been shocked. He glances at Tris for confirmation, and she excuses herself without looking at any of us. I feel like an asshole, but I knew this would happen. I didn't expect her to jump into my arms, but I also don't want to see her run away from me.

"She never told me that," Uriah says after a moment, "You never did either."

"I didn't know you were good friends with her," I tell him, bluntly.

"She never mentioned you," he says, shaking his head, "damn, what a small world."

"Small indeed." Zeke comments, taking a long sip of his drink.

"I should probably go and find her," Uriah says. This could be my only chance—assuming Uriah drove her here, she has nowhere to run away to.

"Can I?" I ask quickly. I give him a desperate look, and admit, "I need to talk to her..." One thing I love about Zeke's brother—he has always been good at reading people, especially when it came to tricky situations. Uriah nods, and I leave the others behind.

The venue has the big room, the kitchens, and the bathrooms. However, despite those efforts, I find her outside by the parking lot. She stands with her arms crossed and her back facing the party. I don't want to startle her, but my shoes kick at the gravel and I know she can hear me.

I feel nervous all of a sudden. I feel like I don't have anything right to say, the words lodge themselves into my throat and make it almost impossible to speak. I see her fingers wipe away at her face, and then she turns to face me. Her eyes look, not angry like I expect, but instead they look distraught.

"I didn't expect you to be here," she says through a hiccup. Still at a loss for words, I look her over. She is still the same girl I remember, except her hair looks lighter and her eyes look brighter. Except right now, they could almost be silver instead of blue. "I thought you were still—,"

"—in Boston," I finish. I nod once, and say, "I was supposed to be."

"No one told me you were back," she wipes at her eyes again, "Why are you back?"

I look away, "it's a long story."

"Another _long_ story..." she scoffs, shaking her head. I feel a momentary flare of anger in my chest, but I suppress it.

"I'm sorry that this caught you off guard," I say stern, "but I have my reasons for coming back."

"I must not have been one of them," she says, bitter.

"Hey, you know I could have acted like I never even knew your name," I snap, "I'm sure that would have hurt worse than finding out like this—,"

"—What the fuck is wrong with you?" She demands.

"What the fuck is wrong with _me_?" I ask incredulously, "For your information, I made it a priority to find you again. I wanted to at least make things right—,"

"—We left things in the past, Tobias," Tris shakes her head again, "and I'm really trying to forget it. I don't want to live in the past."

"You won't even give me a chance to apologize?" I ask.

"It doesn't matter now, does it?"

"I think it does," I retort, "it's a little obvious." She narrows her eyes at me, biting the inside of her cheek to keep quiet.

"You didn't have to do this here," she finally says.

"I didn't think I would get another chance." _I was afraid you'd see me, and that would be the last time_...

"Why are you back?" She asks again. I sigh, a heavy feeling in my chest.

"My mother was sick," I tell her, watching her face, "She passed away recently. I came back to see her before the happened. I've only been back for about a week or so." I hear her breath catch in her throat then.

"...I'm sorry," she says, "I didn't realize..."

"I know," I nod once. _How could you know?_ We stand in awkward silence; Tris stares at the ground, and I find myself staring at her. I'm still so drawn to her, even after all this time. "Can we talk about us?" I ask quietly.

She sucks in a deep breath.

"I don't want to talk about us here..." she says after a moment. Her eyes look to mine, and I see sadness, and anger, and something else.

"Will we soon?"

"I don't know, Tobias!" She sighs, frustrated.

"Will you at least give me the chance to talk, then?" I beg, desperate now, "Tris, please... I hate how we left things. The least I can do is explain myself..."

"Not here," Tris shakes her head, her eyes welling up with tears again, "Just not here... can we do this tomorrow, or something?" I breathe a sigh of relief, and I give in.

"Tomorrow." I say, firm, "Where?" I ask. She sighs.

"I'll have Uriah give you my address," it's all she says, and then I watch her walk away, back to the party. For a moment, I feel utterly floored—it's been so long, but I'm hoping to make things right tomorrow. I am anxious about meeting at her house tomorrow, however. I am not worried about what could happen—but I am anxious about everything else at the same time.

She stays by Uriah's side all night, I notice she doesn't talk much, unless spoken to directly first.

I stay until most of the guests have left, which doesn't happen until close to one in the morning. The slight buzz I had earlier has passed, and now I just feel tired. Shauna and Zeke thank her parents who rented out the venue for them tonight. I help take down tables and chairs and decorations, catching up with Shauna's parents and Zeke's mother.

Uriah left some time ago, taking Tris home as well.

"That was interesting," Zeke comments a short while later, "how did things go outside?"

"What do you think?" I asked, shrugging, "We didn't really talk much... but I'm seeing her tomorrow."

"Seeing her tomorrow?" He asks, raising his eyebrows up and down. I roll my eyes.

"Not like that," I say, shaking my head, "trust me. _She's_ not like that."

"I know," Zeke says after a moment, "at least you get a chance to talk now."

"Yeah, I just don't know what to expect," I say.

 _ **xXxXx**_

Uriah gave me the address when he came back to the venue to help clean up last night. It's an apartment building in Little Village, on West 25th street. I've never been to that part of Chicago, but it is close enough to my mother.

It's a brown brick building, with black shutters framing the windows and a dark oak wood front door. I ring the doorbell for number 3230. At first, I don't hear any other noise besides the outside world around me—then, I hear the door unlock after a moment later.

"It's open," I hear from the speaker.

The interior is clean, with a staircase straight ahead, made with the same dark oak. There are two doors to either side of me, but neither of them are apartment 3230. I start for the stairs and I hear a door open above. Tris steps out from the doorway, her knuckles are white on the door handle.

"Good morning," I say, looking her over out of habit. I remember everything about her, but somehow this woman in front of me looks different—older, stronger.

"Good morning," she breathes, stepping aside to let me in. From the doorway, I can see the apartment is a decent size. There is a large couch that wraps around the living room, taking up most of the space. The coffee table in the center is covered in books and papers. There is an island between the kitchen and the living room, and two stools on the opposite side. The room smells like apples, and something sweet. There is a candle lit on the stove.

I see pictures all around, some from high school and some fairly new. I recognize her friend, Christina, from high school in about half of them. There is another photo with her and a few of her friends, but what stands out most to me is the guy with his arm around her. I feel a flare of jealousy, but quickly suppress it.

"It's not much..." she says, holding herself. She looks nervous.

 _That makes two of us._

"It's nice," I say. I can still hear the noises outside, the window across the room is open; the wind breezes into the room, tossing the curtains aside. I step further into the room, and glance down at the coffee table. They look like school work, "Are you still in school?"

"Just finished, actually," she says, "I just earned my associates."

"What did you major in?"

"Psychology," she rolls her eyes, "I know it's not a real career."

"It's still something," I say, "You worked for it." She shrugs, but I notice the smile on her face stays.

"You're not here to talk about school, though," Tris says after a moment. She sits down on the couch, crossing her legs up to her chin. She looks so small.

"Right," I say, rubbing the back of my neck. My skin prickles and I feel the ease wash off of me. This is much harder now that she is in front of me. It was easy to talk to her last night, with alcohol in my system. But now it's just the real us, and all of my confidence is out the window. "I screwed up. I should have told you I wasn't coming back then, or at the very least that we were over—,"

"—I didn't want that," she says immediately, "I didn't want us to be over."

"I didn't want that either," I nod, "we had our issues, and we didn't face them. I should have told you my plans. I just wanted you to know that Boston was for you... I wanted to make a living out there, and when you were ready I wanted you to come out there with me someday." She doesn't say anything, so I continue, "When I stopped coming back, I wanted you to forget about me... I figured you had your own life out here—,"

"—So you ignored my calls and texts," she says, but she's not accusing.

"I'm sorry," I say quietly.

"Is your number still the same?" She asks.

"It is," I look over at her, and I see her shake her head.

"Mine's not," she replies.

"Did you try calling me again?" I ask, "after it changed?"

"No." Silence.

"You know why I left right?"

"For school... and your job, working nights," Tris waves her hand as she speaks, "I know you left because of your dad..."

"Right," I feel relieved that she remembers that. At least I don't have to admit my relationship with my father over again. I see her eyes glass over, momentarily. I wonder what she's thinking.

"Why couldn't you tell me any of this before?" She asks.

"I was dumb," I admit, "I don't know why I did anything that I did... I don't know why I didn't tell you..." I hear a door open down the hallway, and out steps Christina.

"Christina," Tris stands from the couch, just as she looks between the both of us. Christina stands there in a long t-shirt, her legs are bare and her hair is tossed around.

"You didn't tell me there would be company," she scowls, heading into the kitchen. She runs the tap, and a few seconds later I hear the coffee pot start up. "Anyone want coffee?"

"I'm all set," Tris and I say in unison.

"That was freaky," Christina snorts.

"Chris, you remember Tobias," Tris says awkwardly. Christina nods, a small smirk on her lips.

"Trust me, I remember." I want to ask her what she means by that, but I keep quiet instead, "Don't forget, we're meeting Peter and Will at the bar tonight."

Tris sighs, cutting Christina a glare, "I didn't forget." Christina takes her coffee and heads back into her room, leaving us to stare at each other in silence for a moment.

"Peter and Will?" I ask.

"Will is Christina's boyfriend," Tris explains, "...and Peter is..."

"Your boyfriend?"

Tris shakes her head, scrunching up her nose, "No... Peter is just a friend."

I feel relief—I imagine Peter must be the boy in the photo, with his arm around her, "So he wants to be more?"

"Something like that," she sighs, "It's not like that, for me."

"You don't have a boyfriend?" I ask.

"You don't have a girlfriend," she states matter-of-factly. I narrow my eyes at her.

"How do you know that?"

"You're not very good with girls," she says lightly. I can't argue with her—I told her once before I wasn't good at things like this; of course she would remember that.

"Clearly," I say.

"Would you want to join us for drinks tonight?" She asks, glancing down the hall. I notice Christina's door is cracked open slightly—she must be listening.

"You want me there?"

"Do you not want to go?"

"No, I'll go," I say.

"You just want to know who Peter is," she states, rolling her eyes. But then she smiles, and she knows she is right. I smile in response.

"Something like that."


End file.
